


...I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head

by Merideath



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background Sam/Bucky, F/M, Hand Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sharing a Bed, THANKFULLY, Vaginal Fingering, as Sam is sleeping, but it's easily ignored
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6954436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve been running for months, bouncing around the globe between friendly countries and not so friendly ones since the war between friends and breaking out of the Raft. She felt out of sync with the rest of the world more often than not. A ghost in her own life. The crackle of raw power lit her up inside, sparked at her fingertips, and turned the world red. When the energy flows through her body, into her hands, she can feel the earth beneath her feet, and the weight of the sky above. Her body tunes in with the world around her, with the heroes at her side, and Steve, the man that she's been gravitating around like a satellite in orbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> So...CACW got me shipping Wanda/Steve...hard. I'm not entirely sure of her voice yet, but this was fun to write even if it took me forever and I whined a hell of a lot to pretty much anyone I could get ahold of. The story is dedicated to Miin who is lovely, and probably far too talented to roam around with me.
> 
> Title from Control by Halsey. I may have listened to Halsey quite a bit while writing this as it clicked in my head as being Wanda's soundtack.

They’ve been running for months, bouncing around the globe between friendly countries and not so friendly ones since the war between friends and breaking out of the Raft. She felt out of sync with the rest of the world more often than not. A ghost in her own life. The crackle of raw power lit her up inside, sparked at her fingertips, and turned the world red. When the energy flows through her body, into her hands, she can feel the earth beneath her feet, and the weight of the sky above. Her body tunes in with the world around her, with the heroes at her side, and Steve, the man that she's been gravitating around like a satellite in orbit. 

The hotel room they’ve camped out in for the night is clean and spacious, two queen size beds stand side by side covered in thick white duvets and clusters of plump pillows. Wanda drops her bags on the carpeted floor and sits on the edge of the bed furthest from the door to unlace her boots. Bucky and Sam are arguing, the buzz of their energy fills the room as Sam sprawls out on the other bed while Bucky demolishes an apple from the reception. 

Steve is quietly connecting his laptop to the wifi on the little wooden desk at the foot of the bed. Wanda didn't need to read his mind to feel the weight of his thoughts. He felt everything more deeply than he ever showed. Wanda was jealous of the control he had over himself, even if she sometimes thinks he is far too hard on himself. He carried the weight of each false step as if he were the only one that could. 

He knew his own path, made his own choices, knew who he was down to his very core. Once upon a time, Wanda felt that way too. 

“I’m going to take a shower first,” Wanda says, digging through a pack to find a clean shirt and underwear, and a small toiletry bag. She slips into the bathroom before the next argument starts. 

The bathroom is a sea of white tiles, dark wood, and chrome. She turns every knob in the shower on and off till warm water cascades down. Wanda avoids her reflection as she strips out of her jeans and rumpled blouse, wrinkling her nose at the stale scent of sweat and woodsmoke that fills her lungs. Stepping into the spray of hot water is bliss. Clouds of steam billow up around her body as the water takes away all dirt and grime, with the help of a small rectangle of floral soap. She washes her hair twice to get rid of the woodsmoke from spending days in the forest, nearly emptying a small travel size bottle of her favourite citrus shampoo. She stands under the spray for long minutes, until her fingers prune and the hot water eases the knots down her spine and washes away the heavier thoughts coiling around her mind. 

“You done yet, Wanda? I gotta take a leak,” Bucky’s voice calls out through the hollow door. 

“Just a minute,” Wanda sighs. With a twist of her wrist, she turns off the tap and wraps herself in a fluffy white towel. She dries her body as quickly as possible, squeezing the water from her hair as best she can, and pulls on the pair of panties. The faded t-shirt she slips over her head isn’t hers, but it’s clean, smelling faintly of detergent. The grey jersey hem skims the tops of her thighs and is wonderfully soft against her freshly scrubbed skin. 

***  
She swims up from a deep sleep, body pleasantly warm, consciousness fuzzy around the edges. The room is dark, only faintly lit by the bathroom light, and it takes Wanda a few moments to push back the fog of sleep for her mind. She can hear Steve’s even breath on the bed beside her, Bucky’s light snore from the other bed, and the soft murmur of Sam talking in his sleep. All three men slept heavy, they deserved it. It had been one hell of a week, one Wanda hoped never to repeat. Still, she would rather be with Steve, Sam and Bucky feeling like she was doing good in the world than on the farm with the Bartons and Scott.

The last thing she remembered before drifting off to sleep was dropping the book she’d been reading onto her face for the third time and telling Steven not to be so stupid as to sleep on the floor and join her on the bed. Which explained the warm lump on the bed beside her that smelled of her own citrus shampoo.

Steve sighs in his sleep and as Wanda’s eyes are closing his arm snakes around her waist, pulling her into him. Wanda freezes, all the air leaving her lungs. It’s not that they haven’t slept side by side before, he’s practically curled around her like a giant blonde cephalopod on more than one occasion on couches, and when curled up in sleeping bags on the hard ground, wooden floors, and threadbare carpet. It’s not the man himself that worries her, it’s the bright flash of thoughts that spiderwebs through her mind when his body presses up to her. He’s solid and warm, and Wanda would dearly love to leave it at that. But it’s hard when Steve’s dreaming mind pushes into the very cracks of her own. 

His hand is splayed over her abdomen, pinning her to his body. She can feel his belly move with each breath and the hard length of his cock pressing into her ass. She’d push the dream away, push everything out of sight and mind if only the dream didn’t settle so well into her own private fantasies. Steve was dreaming of her. Dreaming of taking her apart with his hands and his mouth till she screamed his name. It wasn’t real. It was a brightly colored fantasy that flooded her mind and sent liquid heat rolling down her spine to gather in the bottom of her belly, and between her thighs. 

Want burns a path through her body, and she fails to stop the moan that escapes her mouth. 

Wanda licks her lips, takes a breath that catches halfway to her lungs. “Steven,” she whispers low, swatting at his arm. Steve sighs and nuzzles between neck and shoulder. “Wake up.” His hips rock forward a little, and half a moan, soft as a feather, reaches her ear. “You’re dreaming, you fool.”

She can almost feel the shape of her name forming on his tongue as he wakes. The dream splinters apart, but the heavy feel of arousal clings. Steve’s body jolts behind her, his hand pulling her tighter into his hips. “Wanda?” 

“Who else would be sharing this bed with you?” she whispers back, wriggling in his grasp.

Steve hisses low, jerking his hips back, an apology hovering on his lips. 

“Don’t you dare, Steven,” Wanda says, rolling onto her back to meet Steve’s eyes. It’s too dark even with the crack in the bathroom door to see more than the shine of his eyes. They are close enough that she can feel the shifting of his emotions bright and hot; want, embarrassment, anger, guilt. His thoughts are a mess, nothing she can work with, not when her own thoughts are muzzy with arousal thrumming in her veins. 

She kisses him, before the demons in her head can stick knives of anxiety into her heart. It’s been such a long time since she kissed anyone, and her belly prickles with ice as her lips press against Steve’s mouth. His lips are dry and chapped, and he sighs into her mouth. Wanda pulls back, tears beginning to well in her eyes. He didn’t want her, just the fantasy witch in his head. The thought crumbles to dust as Steve leans forward and brushes his mouth over hers. It’s no fairy tale kiss, there is no sweetness and light. It is salt and earth. Want that burns through him. 

“This is trouble, kid,” he says, mouth close to Wanda’s ear. 

The first time he called her that she bristled. Her hands had curled into tight fists, silver rings digging into her flesh, red fire kissing her knuckles. The second time he’d caught her as she fell in practice, a trail of red fading to pink behind her. “Good try, kid, now do it again.” She’d cursed at him indignantly, red seeping into her vision as she called power from her core. She’d caught a whisper of his emotions, affection, and admiration, and a spark of something more. A more that she hadn't been ready for then when she was pining over a man that wasn't quite human and was wholly safe to her cracked heart.

“Don’t care. Kiss me again,” she says. Steve glances over his shoulder at the other bed and she can feel his emotions slide over her. Worry, affection, want. His mind is a riot of thoughts, jagged little pieces that overlap with straight lines and the bright colors of his emotions. His mind flashes on her, on the men in the other bed, his thoughts of Wanda, right and wrong, and what he wants to do. “They are deep in sleep, beyond the disturbance of dreams. I want you. I want-”

Steve curses low, a murmur of syllables that pass his lips a heartbeat before his mouth is on hers. He pushes his thigh between her legs and weaves the fingers of one hand in the long strands of her hair. The other hand is solid on her waist, edging up under the t-shirt she’s wearing. The slide of his thumb over the soft skin of her breast pulls a whimper from her. Steve’s mouth curves into a grin against her jaw. Smug fool.

They kiss until her lungs are on fire, and her lips feel bruised. 

“We need to stop before this goes too far,” he whispers into her hair pulling back from her. 

"I've seen inside your head, how you see me in your dreams." She slips two fingers between the elastic at his waist and the warm skin of Steve's abdomen. "Perhaps it is fair if you see mine." 

It’s not a dream that she shows him, but a memory. Her room at the Avengers facility, her hand buried between her spread thighs and one of Steve’s hooded sweatshirts covering her body. She lets the image fade away and replaces it with another, bodies entwined, pieces of Steve’s uniform scattered across a floor with Wanda’s red coat. 

There’s a wickedness in her. A desire in her to push him as far as she can, wrap him up in her own imaginings. So he sees how far she can fall if he’ll let her. But the strands of her power are a blade that cuts her just as deep.

In the red-tinted fantasy, Steve is fucking her against a wall, face buried in the curve of her neck, one hand on her ass, the other fisting in her hair. She can feel the blood pumping in her veins, hear the trip of her own heartbeat and the sharp intake of Steve’s breath stirring her hair.

Wanda draws the fantasy out like wool on a spindle, looping it around and feeding the next dream into it. They’re in the facility’s kitchen, Wanda’s palms flat on the counter, dress hiked up over her hips while Steve arches over her back, her long hair wrapped around his first as he fucks into her.

“Enough,” Steve growls. 

Wanda shivers, black painted toes curling and she slips her hand into Steve’s sweats. The back of her nails brush warm skin and crisp hair. A little thrill ripples down the center of her body at the lack of underwear. 

She tells herself she shouldn't be so surprised, after all, it was his turn to do the laundry. She was wearing his shirt, after all, or possibly Sam’s. 

Wanda waits for him to move, to stop her curious fingers as the pads brush the head of his cock. He breathes in sharply through his nose, and circles her slender wrist with his calloused fingers. His body is held still as a stone, solid as the shield he gave up to chose himself. “Please,” she rasps. There are a million reasons that they shouldn’t fool around, but she hopes that the desire to touch and be touched in return overrules any objections they both should have. 

He squeezes her wrist once, trails his fingers up the length of her bare arm, cotton covered shoulder, and cups her cheek. Steve sighs against her mouth and swipes his tongue over her bottom lip. “Yes.” The word is a promise sealed with a kiss that steals the breath from her lungs. She curls her fingers around him, stroking along his cock, feeling the crinkle of skin, and the throb of his pulse against her palm. 

The elastic of his sweatpants cuts into her wrist as she feels him out, stroking along the length of his cock. He’s thicker than in her fantasies and uncut. The foreskin slides beneath her fingers and a low moan feathers against her cheek. Touching him sends a pulse of heat between her thighs. She wanted him, wanted this. She wanted to taste him, be filled by him till the ache of being stretched turns honey sweet. 

She traces her thumb over the slick head, teasing over the slit and the edge of his foreskin. Steve’s hips rock forward, a growl reverberating in his chest. Wanda raises her knees pushing her thighs together, feeling a rush of wet heat flood between her legs. 

Steve’s fingers squeeze the back of her neck, and he drags his hand down to thumb her nipple through the cotton of the t-shirt she’s wearing. She catches the word ‘mine’ forming in Steve’s thoughts, but she can’t tell if it’s the shirt or herself he’s thinking of, not when he rolls her nipple between thumb and forefinger like that. It tugs a nerve, a line of want stretching down to her cunt and she clenches down on nothing. 

His mouth is hot on the hinge of her jaw as his fingertips paint over her body, trailing down to where the shirt rucks up along her hips leaving a small strip of skin bare between the hem and the elastic of her panties. The panties are red, with tiny little witches hats and cauldrons in black, and Wanda is grateful for the dark and the covers so he won’t see them. 

There is a heaviness to her limbs, a throbbing in her veins of blood and fire as Steve’s fingertips drag over her belly. The callouses catch on the cotton of her panties, and her breath hitches in her throat. His hand pulls away, knuckles brushing her hip as he tugs his sweats down far enough to free his cock. Steve’s hand returns to her belly, finger plucking at the tiny satin bow on her panties and a smile ghosts across her lips. Steve hums softly, taps his fingers on her hip once.

Her thighs fall open and he trails his fingers over the wet cotton clinging to her cunt. She gasps, fingers tightening on Steve’s cock. Steve huffs out a laugh, rocking his hips into her. The wet tip of his cock nudges her bare hip, and a shudder passes through him. 

His fingers tease her through the damp cotton, mapping out her sex before he pushes his fingertips under the elastic edge to feel the slick heat of her cunt. He swirls a fingertip lightly over her clit, and Wanda’s hips arch off the bed. An image passes through her head, but she cannot say with any certainty if the picture is from Steve’s mind or her own. Red ribbons of power dance around the edges of her vision. Her fingers, covered in silver rings and chipped nail polish, thread through Steve’s sandy hair as he buries his mouth in the heat of her cunt. “Goddess,” she gasps and slaps a hand over her mouth. 

The metal of her silver rings is smooth against her lips. Steve kisses the backs of her fingers. “Shhh,” he whispers. His fingers dip into the slick of her pussy, spreading the wetness around, broad thumb lightly circling her clit. 

The red flames of her power fade out into nothing and Wanda can no longer feel Steve’s thoughts, only the coil of pleasure tightening inside her belly. Her hand stills on his cock as she revels in the feel of Steve’s hand on her, one broad finger pushing into her cunt as he mouths at her neck, white teeth scraping skin. His breath is as unsteady as her own, and she can’t keep her hips still, arching them up off the bed to fuck herself on his fingers. 

Steve curls his fingers inside her, drags them out and Wanda’s cunt flutters around him. Her legs fall apart as far as her hips will allow, and she’s close enough to see sparks behind her eyes to match the heat pulsing in her veins. 

“Steven...Steve,” she whispers. Her voice is wrecked, broken and hardly recognisable as her own. Her thoughts feel as if they are unravelling, muting down to a soft babble. Even the dark voices, the demons that spew venom in her mind fall silent. 

The muscles in her forearm ache and she speeds up the pumping of her hand. His cock twitches, jumps beneath her touch, and he growls into her neck. His breathing is rough, jagged, like each lungful of air is ripped from his chest. Wanda twists her hand on the upstroke, breath catching as the wet head of his cock bumps against her hip. 

“You first,” he says. His mouth is warm on the shell of her ear, sending a shiver careening down her spine. 

Wanda nods her head silently, afraid to part her lips for fear of the scream trapped in the cage of her ribs. Her hand falls still on his cock as his speeds up. Steve’s thumb rubs tighter circles over her clit. She’s on the knife edge of falling, the muscles of her thighs trembling, sweat collecting along her spine. Steve’s fingers work her hard, relentlessly. His gravelly voice whispering encouragement in the tangled bird’s nest of her hair. 

“Come on, Wanda, come.” His fingers curl and twist, and Wanda’s hips jerk, back bowing as orgasm washes through her in rippling waves. A low cry rises from her throat to be caught in her hand, luminous sparks dance behind her eyelids. Her pulse roars in her ears. The hand at her mouth falls away to tangle in the sheets. Wanda closes her thighs, trapping and stilling the movements of Steve’s clever fingers. 

Steve pulls his fingers from her, curling them as he withdraws them. His large hand covers hers, lacing his sticky fingers with hers on his cock. His hand tightens on hers, jerking over his cock hard and fast. The bones in her hand ache, silver rings biting into her fingers and his cock. Steve turns his head into the pillow beside Wanda’s head, a muffled groan reaching her ear as he spills in hot sticky strands across her hip and belly.

“Damn,” he murmurs into her hair with a last slow pump of their joined hands.

“Chyort,” Wanda breathes out, unaware of the word twist into Sokovian as it leaves her tongue.

….

The door to the bathroom clicks shut behind Wanda, leaving Steve alone in the bed. Alone with his thoughts, and the sawing of Sam’s snoring across the room. 

A little prickle of guilt burrows at the back of his head, but it can’t quite knock the smile from his face. 

He sighs tiredly, and with a slight grimace cleans himself up with a corner of the sheet. He tucks himself away, straightening up the rumpled bedclothes. There is a small wet patch on the mattress beside him and he wrinkles his nose, shifting his ass over to cover it. 

He runs a hand over his face, stifling a yawn. His fingers smell of Wanda’s cunt, earth and salt and his dick gives a twitch of interest. Steve stretches an arm above his head and is hit in the face with a pillow. He half sits up, gripping the pillow in his fist and swinging his head around to face his attacker, adrenaline spiking down his spine.

"Yanno, I remember it used to be me makin' time with a girl that kept you up at night,” Bucky drawls, voice low enough not to carry through the bathroom door.

Steve frowns, guilt a sharp blade digging into his chest. The air in his lungs seeps out in a slow breath. He’d been stupid. He probably shouldn’t have let things happen the way they had. But he didn’t regret what happened with Wanda. He’d wanted her for longer than he cared to admit. "Wasn't just girls you were makin’ time with, then or now."

"Took ya long enough to let the little witch into your pants," Bucky snorts. 

“Don’t be an ass, Buck,” Steve grunts tossing the pillow back across the beds. Bucky plucks it from the air and tucks it under his head laughing softly. 

Steve rolls on his side facing the bathroom door when it clicks open again and Wanda tiptoes back to the bed. She slips beneath the covers and Steve loops his arm around her waist pulling her flush to his chest. Wanda squeaks, arm flailing. Her elbow catches him in the gut. “Oof.”

“You deserved that.”

“Maybe,” he says brushing his lips over her neck. Wanda sighs weaving their hands together over her stomach. There are things he wants to say to her, do to her and with her, but for now he breathes in the scent of her shampoo, the salty sweet scent of her skin as their hearts find the same rhythm.


End file.
